The Louisiana Steam Cotton Press
In winter quarters--Dull times--The fortune-tellers--An old man's
blessing--A pleasant surprise--Leave of absence--On board the
steamer Creole--Seasick--Losing Henry Holmes--Wholesale
visiting--Finding Henry Holmes.
_November 21, 1863._
COTTON PRESS. _Saturday._ I slept until called this morning, and was not
through with my nap then. I had breakfast with the quartermaster and
then set out to get acquainted with the place we are now in. The Steam
Cotton Press is, or has been, quite an affair. It fronts on old Levee
Street and is about 300 feet long, running back about the same distance,
with buildings all around it. Except at the front these buildings all
front inside, with a board shed or piazza roof along them, under which
the cotton as it was brought in was stored until pressed. From Reynolds,
who has inquired into its history, I learned that the four-story front,
except the space occupied by the press itself, was used for offices, and
the buildings on the other three sides was for the help needed to do the
immense amount of work connected with re-pressing the cotton for
shipment to different parts of the world. Cotton was first pressed into
bales about like hay bales, at the place where raised. Then it was
brought here and sold to the cotton merchants, who re-pressed these
bales to about one quarter their former size, thus enabling a vessel to
take on a much larger load. The press itself it a simple affair, but
powerful. The bed is of railroad iron cut to the proper length, and the
follower is of the same. Long levers, with a short elbow at the lower
end, stand at each side. Over these, chains run to a drum which pulls
the long arms down, and the short arm upwards, thus forcing the bed and
follower together. The great square yard in the center is graded smooth
with sea shells, like the "Shell Road," and will make a capital drill
ground. It is large enough for a whole regiment at a time. It is the
best quarters we have ever had. Everything is dry and it should be
healthy here if anywhere in this flat country. My first job will be to
help get the books and reports in shape. But to-day I am allowed to look
around and I am doing it. The colonel sent me to the ferry landing on an
errand just at night, after which I got some thing to eat, wrote this
and am going to bed.
_November 22, 1863._
_Sunday._ On duty as officer of the guard. The duties in this bricked-in
camp are light, and are more a matter of form than anything else. Still
it must be gone through with. I find the men have improved wonderfully
from what they were at Brashear City. Nothing at all happened worth
writing about.
_November 23, 1863._
_Monday._ I came off duty at 8 o'clock, and after breakfast settled down
for a nap, which was cut short by a call from Charlie Ensign of Company
B, 128th, who has just been discharged and is on his way home. We went
out for a walk, and a talk about the boys of Company B. He says George
Drury has got an appointment to come to us as hospital steward. Let them
come. We are pretty much made up of 128th boys now, and if they keep
coming we will get all of them.
In the afternoon I took Company D out for an hour's drill. I found a
great improvement since I last had them out. Once the hard shell of
stupidity is broken through they learn fast. The best of it is they are
anxious to learn and one can afford to have patience. John Mathers came
in last night with twenty men, which will about make up another
company, then our regiment will be half full.
_November 24, 1863._
_Tuesday._ The twenty men brought in last night were turned over to me
to uniform and equip. Dr. Andrus from the 128th called on us to-day. He
is on his way home on a visit. How I wish he could be with us all the
time. Of all the men I have met since leaving home, there is none I
admire as I do him. I wish all men were like him. A few might have to
come down a little, but the most would have to jump up to reach his
level; and some of them would have to jump high. At any rate it would
raise the average wonderfully. Sergeant McArthur, also of the 128th,
made us a visit. It seems as if every one that can get a pass to come to
town are sure to fetch up here. We are glad to see them and they act as
if they were glad to see us. The rainy season is about due now, and from
appearances it is about to begin. A year ago to-day I was sick, on board
the Arago off Fortress Monroe. It is a good thing I don't know where the
next 24th of November may find me. I had rather leave it as it is than
to know.
_November 25, 1863._
_Wednesday._ Drilling the men, and getting settled in our quarters, has
kept me busy all the day. Borrowed five dollars and bought a stove with
it. Have had plenty of help and advice about it and expect to have
plenty of company, for we are great on visiting each other. We are in
the most comfortable quarters for winter we ever had and I hope we may
not be called out again until warm weather comes. The weather is not
cold, that is, water does not freeze, but we do, almost. There is a
chill in the air at night that goes right through a blanket.
_November 26, 1863._
_Thursday._ Thanksgiving day, as sure as I live! I never thought of it,
until some one mentioned the fact to me. How the good things will abound
at home. I suppose we should give thanks for what comforts we have, but
it would be much easier if we had more of them. The day goes by like all
the others, drilling our men, eating our rations, and sleeping in our
tents, which are pitched under the sheds nearest the press.
_November 27, 1863._
_Friday._ A sergeant in Company K, 128th, who deserted while we were at
Fortress Monroe, has been arrested and sent on here. He is in the Parish
Prison, and Ames, who knew him, has gone up to see him. I don't know
what they do with such, but from the fact of his being sent on I suppose
it will be nothing more than reduced to the ranks.
_November 28, 1863._
_Saturday._ Colonel B. issued his first general order to-day and it
reads like this: "Roll call at half-past 5 A. M. Immediately after the
sound of the bugle the men will arise and arrange their knapsacks,
blankets and overcoats in neat and compact order. The bunks swept, the
blankets folded in the knapsacks, shoes polished, clothes brushed,
muskets stacked and accoutrements hung on them. The company, except the
police, will form and march to the river and wash face and hands.
Breakfast call at 7 A. M. Doctor's call at 8 A. M. Guard mount at 9 A.
M. Drill 9 to 11 A. M. Roll call and dinner at noon. Cleaning of muskets
and accoutrements from 1 P. M. to 2 P. M. Drill 2 to 4 P. M. Supper 5.30
P. M. Roll call at 8 P. M. Tuesday and Friday evenings a recitation in
tactics from 6 to 8 P. M. A detail of one man from each company and one
corporal from the regiment for policing camp. A pass to two men from
each company each day, to visit the city or call upon friends, time of
leaving and returning to be written on pass. Saturdays to be spent in
cleaning up camp and getting ready for Sunday morning inspection.
Officers in command of companies will be held responsible for the
carrying out of this order and accountable for any neglect of duty by
the men or officers under them.
By command of
CHARLES E. BOSTWICK,
_Colonel commanding 90th U. S. C. I._"
Good for you, Colonel B. It has given me something to write in my diary
if nothing more. But I think the order a most sensible one. We know what
to do now and when to do it. Besides it will keep us busy and that is
what we most need. Some sort of deviltry is sure to be hatching soon
after we get out of work. This being Saturday we have everything in
apple-pie order. Oh dear! how I wish I had some. Just writing the words
"apple-pie" makes my mouth water. I never saw a camp so spick and span
as this is to-night. An order has just come for 130 men to be turned
over to the Fourth Engineers. That cuts us down nearly half. Colonel B.
gave me a handsome inkstand to-day. I suppose that would be as
appropriate a present as he could make me, considering my constant use
of one. He also asked me if I needed money. I told him I needed it badly
enough, but did not want it enough to borrow just now; but all the same
I thanked him and am glad to know I can call on him if necessary.
_November 29, 1863._
_Sunday._ Just two months since I was mustered into this regiment.
Consequently I have two months' pay, $211, and am as poor as a church
mouse. I am just as handy with a hard-tack and a cup of coffee as ever,
and I presume feel better than if I could have anything I want. We have
a way of telling what we will have for our next meal, getting up a bill
of fare that would beat the St. Charles Hotel. After we have ordered the
meal from George, our cook, we pick up a hard-tack and nibble away on it
and are just as well satisfied, and all the better off. A letter from
home tells me they are all well, and "the world it wags well with me
now."
The chills and fever keep at the men. Every day one or more comes down.
I suppose they brought it with them from Brashear City. It doesn't seem
as if they could get it here, for we are in the dry all the time, and
everything about camp is as neat as can be. In my short army life we
have never been in a place where we were so comfortable as here.
_December 3, 1863._
_Thursday._ For the past few days I have been too busy to even keep my
diary going. We have been making out transfer papers to go with the men.
We have to enumerate every article of clothing and equipment that goes
with each man and they must all be made in duplicate. An officer from
the engineers has been here and looked at the men, and seen them at
drill. He decided to take Companies E, B and D. That cleans me out of a
job, but I suppose Colonel B. will find me another. Charlie Ensign and
Henry V. Wood who have been visiting us until their discharge papers
were made out and transportation secured are to leave for home on the
Cahawby to-morrow. Charlie has left me his profile, and says he will go
to Sharon and see the folks in my place. We are all on a quiver, for
some one has got to go on another recruiting tour, and no telling where
it will be. Adjutant Gus Phillips, who has been under arrest for
drunkenness for some time, was released to-day and started right off on
another and a worse spree. This so exasperated Colonel B. that he put
him under arrest again. I don't know what the outcome will be, but hope
it will clear him from us for good and all.
_December 4, 1863._
_Friday._ Officer of the guard to-day, in place of a sick man. I once
had the favor done me, and I am very glad to pay it back. Still more
glad am I that I am well and able to do it. We expect our pay to-morrow
and then hurrah for some new clothes, and a full stomach. Also a
photograph to send home. Another steamer in and no letter for me. What's
the matter up there? I guess I'll send them some stamps when I get the
money to buy them.
_December 5, 1863._
_Saturday._ After guard mount this morning I started for the paymaster's
office, and got pay up to November 1st, 31 days. It came to $110.15,
several times as much as I ever before got for a month's work. With it I
bought a coat, $30, a pair of pants, $10, a vest, $4, a couple of
shirts, $5, four pairs of socks for $1, a cap for $3, invested another
dollar in collars and a necktie, $4.50 for a trunk, paid the balance due
Mrs. Herbert for board $2.50, had a dinner that cost twenty cents, a
cigar that cost five cents, and a paper for five cents more. Paid a hack
driver seventy-five cents to bring me home, paid George the cook $8.50,
Lieutenant Gorton $7.65, borrowed money, for half a dozen handkerchiefs,
ninety-five cents, and had $31 left over. I owe others for borrowed
money, and by the time I get round I fear my pile to send home will be
small. When next pay day comes I hope to make a better showing, for I
won't owe so many and have so much to buy.
_December 6, 1863._
_Sunday._ Lieutenant Gorton and myself took a walk up town this
afternoon, and at the Murphy House who should we meet but Charlie
Ackert, one-time editor of the Pine Plains _Herald_. Fresh from good old
Dutchess County, he was able to tell us all about the folks we so often
think of. He looks and acts just as he did, just as full of fun as any
boy. We walked about the town for a couple of hours and finally stopped
at a picture-taking place and sat for photographs. We hardly expect they
will be hung outside with the show pictures, but I have my new clothes
on, and that may be an inducement. We came back through Rampart Street,
which from the looks is where the F. F. V.'s live. I wrote a couple of
letters, wrote the above in my diary and am now going to bed.
_December 7, 1863._
_Monday._ At home I was called a jack-at-all-trades and I find they all
come in play here. The addition to my family by the arrival of
Lieutenants Gorton and Smith made additional sleeping arrangements
necessary. They both helped about making the beds, but not liking their
work I drove them both out and made some that they owned up were much
better. I also made a rack to hang our clothes on, for now that we no
longer sleep with them on, we have need of something better than the
floor to hang them on. We get good news from the North, nowadays. Grant
is up to his old tricks again. The Army of the Potomac is on the move
also.
Towards night Colonel B. came round and said he had orders to turn over
the rest of our men to the Engineers and to start out after more. An
expedition is being fitted out for some place, supposed to be Texas, and
probably that is where we are to go. I only hope we won't go by way of
the Gulf again, for I would dreadfully hate to get my thirty-dollar coat
wet. If General Banks will leave us as we are now until warm weather
comes again, I will vote for him to be our next president, provided he
can get the nomination.
_December 8, 1863._
_Tuesday._ After a bed, the next thing was to manufacture a table, and
from that I went to chair-making. I made some little saw-horses, and
across the top stretched a piece of canvas, and we each have a very
comfortable seat. Smith says they should be patented. One end up they
are chairs and turned over they are sawbucks. He says a man with one of
them could saw wood until tired and then turn it over and have a good
chair to sit on and rest up. Matt always has something to say, but we
try to endure him. It has been a rainy day, but all being under shelter
we care but little. No further news about Texas comes and we hang our
hopes high. The photographs came to-day. Gorton doesn't like his and is
going to try again. Mine are all right, except that Matt says the nose
is crooked, but I don't care for a little thing like that, and shall
hurry one of them home by first mail. At night we all gathered at
Colonel Bostwick's tent, to show him how much we remembered of the army
tactics that were worked into our noddles at Camp Millington. We filled
his tent too full for comfort, and he decided to put off the school
until he found a better place to hold it. He told us what lines to be
prepared on and after visiting awhile we all went to our own homes, I to
write and the rest to bed and asleep.
_December 9, 1863._
_Wednesday._ Officer of the guard again; was detailed, but soon after
excused and another put in my place, all due to a mistake the adjutant
had made. I went and had more photos made, as I found I had more friends
than photographs. We exchanged with each other, and are each getting up
a collection that will remind us of each other, when we again go our
different ways. The officers that have horses are each trying to get the
fastest one. This is a great place for horse racing, and everyone seems
to catch the fever. Dr. Warren has the fastest one and Lieutenant
Colonel Parker and Major Palon thought if they couldn't beat him alone,
they might do it together. So on a back street they tried the experiment
this afternoon. The doctor and the major started together. At the half
mile post Colonel Parker struck in and the major dropped out. It turned
out to be no race at all, for the doctor's horse beat them and didn't
half try. Colonel Parker's horse is the one we searched out from the
Great Cypress swamp. He is a beauty, but he can't run as well as he
looks. The judges said the doctor's horse made the half mile in
fifty-eight seconds and the mile in two minutes. We think the judges may
have had a drink of the doctor's whiskey.
_December 10, 1863._
_Thursday._ Staid in my tent all day and wrote letters. I won't tell how
many I wrote or to whom. At any rate there are none that I know of who
can accuse me of owing them a letter. At night we went again to recite
tactics to Colonel B. He said we knew our lesson, and I suppose we each
got a credit mark. After that we went back to our tents and yarned it
until bedtime.
_December 11, 1863._
_Friday._ To-day, after posting the letters I wrote yesterday, I
regulated things in my trunks, getting rid of the letters I care the
least about, and having a general house-cleaning time. Some of the
letters I have read and re-read until they are nearly worn out. If the
senders knew how I prize them I think they would send them oftener. It
is rumored that Grant has been cutting up more didoes. If half the
victories we read of were true the Rebellion wouldn't have a leg to
stand on. Consequently we only believe such as are reported several
times, and let those that are printed only once go for lies, which they
generally prove to be. Still it gives us something to talk about, and
to think about, and that is something we are always glad to get. How
such stories get started is a wonder to me. Some one must make them up
out of whole cloth, but if they knew how we hunger and thirst for the
real naked facts I don't believe they would do it. At night Colonel B.,
Gorton and I went for a walk. We went up to the stable where the colonel
has his horse kept, which is way up beyond Canal Street. After looking
at the horses we went to the Murphy House and filled up on oysters,
washing them down with beer. After an hour or two of this we returned by
a roundabout way to the Cotton Press, our home. I found my name on the
bulletin board for officer of the guard to-morrow. As that meant no
sleep to-morrow night I turned in, and the very next thing I knew it was
morning.
_December 12, 1863._
Saturday morning, and almost time for guard mount. Lieutenant Reynolds
pulled me out or I would have lost my breakfast. I reached guard
headquarters just in time to march the new guard out for inspection.
Then the colonel reminded me that I was not dressed according to
regulations, and excused me while I returned for my dress suit, sash,
sword and cap. Not having a sash I took the colonel's and was soon on
hand, "armed and equipped as the law directs." I met with no other
adventures, and had little to do, for the men show the training we have
given them and are not the awkward things they once were. At 3 P. M. an
officers' drill was had on the parade ground. Colonel Parker was
drill-master, and had everyone out. Being on duty, I had only to look
on, and enjoy seeing the awkward work done by some of them. It was not
all fun for the drilled, for the driller seemed determined to get the
last drop of sweat out of them. He afterwards said he did it for the
good of the service, that enlisted men were looking on, and he wished to
set them a good example. For that same reason none of them dared to
make any objections until they were back in their quarters and then the
drill-master got his medicine. He claimed he wanted to find out just how
long it took to wilt a paper collar. I presume if another drill of that
kind comes off Colonel B. will act as drill-master and the lieutenant
colonel will get as good as he gave.
_Midnight._ Some of the shoulder-strappers have gone to the theatre and
the others are snoring away in their tents. In order to keep awake I am
writing up the day's doings. A prayer meeting has been going on in the
men's quarters since dark and is in full blast yet. It would be
laughable only for their earnestness, which beats all I have yet
witnessed. They sing more than they pray, and their hymns I have never
seen in print. One of them I can repeat the first and last lines of, the
middle being made up of variations. It starts "This lower world's a hell
for us," and closes with "Where Jesus rides on a big white hoss." It was
not funny, they were too much in earnest. Matt, who has just got in from
the theatre, says he hopes it sounds better in heaven than it does here,
and I haven't a doubt that it does. Abe Linkum comes in for a full
share, his name being used as often in their praises as that of the
Deity.
_December 13, 1863._
_3 a. m. Sunday._ The prayer meeting continues. I have found out that a
negro preacher of great fame among them is present and conducts the
services. If he does it for pay he is certainly earning his money.
Reveille sounded before the meeting was over. After guard mount, a
breakfast and a wash up, I turned in for a nap. In the afternoon I set
out to go to church. Where, I had no idea, but after following the sound
of bells, and finding some of them on fire engine houses, and some on
steamboats, I turned and followed some people who had books in their
hands and had every appearance of church-goers. They finally brought up
at a church and I followed them in. The church was crowded, and the
service was in a tongue strange to me, so as soon as I could I got out
and came back home. Home--what a place to apply the blessed name of home
to! Still it is my home. Any place, that a soldier leaves, expecting to
return to it, is his home. If asked where my home is I should say at the
Louisiana Steam Cotton Press. It's my only home now. That's what I say,
but yet my heart says "in the little brown house under the hill, where
the old folks stay." Shall I ever get over longing for that home? It is
very humble but there is no other place on earth that I would rather
see. Just as I was about turning to indigo, the postmaster came in and
gave me a letter from Jane. Dear old Jane! If she could have seen me
grab it, and watched me read it, I know she would write oftener. She is
the scribe for the whole family. She is a fast writer. She knows just
what to say for the others as well as herself, and the very worst thing
I can say against her is that she does not write oftener. Still, the
pile of letters in my trunk, all from her, are a witness that I am
selfish to ask or expect her to write oftener. I will drop you, my
diary, and answer this letter before it is cold from my hands.
_December 14, 1863._
_Monday afternoon._ Lieutenant Colonel Parker and Lieutenant Heath went
out for a ride, and it was whispered about that they were going out on
Montague Street for a horse race. Gorton and I followed them up and
found them already at it. A horse-car line crosses Montague Street a few
blocks from the Cotton Press, and a car came across just as they were
almost to it. Heath just missed and the colonel ran plump into it. His
head hit the edge of the roof, which laid his scalp lock right back on
his head. We picked him up and got him into a nearby drug store, and by
that time he was coming to. But he didn't know where he was or what had
happened. We got a doctor, who said he should go to the hospital, and he
is there now with a very sore head, and the prospects of a big broad
scar to remember his ride by.
If some of them don't get their necks broken it will be a wonder. Gorton
has taken one of the rejected recruits to wait on him. Someway he had
got past the doctor who examined him and was sworn in. But he is lame
and was afterwards thrown out. His name is Henry Holmes, and says he
enlisted at West Baton Rouge under an officer whose name he has
forgotten. He was brought to New Orleans for transfer into a regiment,
and was finally thrown out. He is very anxious to go north, and Gorton
has promised to take him along when he goes home. He and my Tony are
chums already and I am teaching them their letters. My time not being my
own, I have no regular school hours, but they are always ready and
really try hard to learn. As there is no prospect of our leaving our
present quarters, and being of small account here, several of us have
applied for leave of absence to go home. It is not expected each will
get one and several bets have been made for and against any of us
getting one. But wouldn't I be a happy boy if it should happen to be me.
_December 15, 1863._
_Tuesday._ Our hopes for a furlough are gone. Maybe we had no reason to
hope, but all the same we did. Just a few minutes ago the colonel got
orders to start at once for Matagorda Island. Where it is or what we go
for, the order does not say. We are all in a fluster about it, and
wondering what we will do with the housekeeping outfits we have
collected. We certainly can't take them along. Some think Matagorda
Island is off the Texas coast and others say off the coast of Florida.
Matt Smith is sure it is on a mountain in Mexico. We expect to know when
we get there. The best thing I can see in the move is that it will give
us something to do, and me something to write about in my diary. I do
hope another mail will come before we go. I feel now as I did the night
we were marching on towards Port Hudson, when the mail carrier ran along
the lines giving out the letters, and besides a letter gave me a
photograph of dear old father and mother. I felt then as if I could
storm Port Hudson alone, so much good did they do me. It has been my
constant companion every minute since, and will go with me to Matagorda
Island when I go. But I would like another letter. We are packed up, and
the colonel is off looking after transportation. Good-bye, diary, for a
spell.
_December 16, 1863._
_Wednesday._ Yesterday and to-day we have waited for the word "March,"
and are still waiting. Colonel Parker has come back. He has an ugly
scalp wound, and his head is covered with bandages. But the prospect of
active duty has brought him around sooner than anything else could do.
We know no more about our destination than the order, to "go at once,"
says. We are ready, and that is all we can do. I have got out my writing
traps, but it won't take me long to stow them away when the word comes.
The stories we hear about the place we are going to are wonderful, but
as none of them are likely to be true I won't waste paper putting them
down. I am quite an authority on the times and places we have visited
and am often called in to settle some disputed question, but my notes
all look backwards and are good for nothing when asked about the future.
We are still hoping for letters before we start.
_December 17, 1863._
CAMP DUDLEY. _Thursday._ I have never thought to tell the name given our
camp here at the Cotton Press. All camps have a name, so orders can be
sent to camp so-and-so, and some one with the proper authority named
the Cotton Press, "Camp Dudley." We are here yet waiting for further
orders. The trial by court-martial of Adjutant Phillips comes off
to-day, and several have gone as witnesses. The story goes now that
Matagorda Island is off the mouth of the Rio Grande River. If I only
knew how long we are to be gone, I could tell what to take and what to
leave, and would be better satisfied. Dr. Warren has given me a book for
keeping up my diary. It is a physician's visiting list, just right to
carry in my side pocket and I am just beginning in it, having packed up
and sent off my diary up to this date. We had a hard thunderstorm last
night, but it is cool to-day, and I have stuck up my stove again and
have a good fire in it.
_Noon._ The court-martial was adjourned and our family is together
again. Our marching orders have been changed and now we are to start for
Bayou Sara, just above Baton Rouge. We are going to-night. I have been
trying to be sick for a day or two, and the colonel says I am just the
one to stay and keep house. Dr. Warren came around in a little while and
agreed with him, so I am to stay. It is the first time since I came out
of the hospital last spring, and I hate to break such a record, but I do
feel miserable for a fact. A steamer called the Northerner has just
pulled up opposite camp, to take us up the river. She shows the marks of
a skirmish with the Rebs, having a lot of bullet holes to show, and a
big hole through her wheel house, where a cannon ball went through,
taking off the head of a man in the cabin. They say the guerrillas are
very troublesome.
At night I had a letter from my sister, Mrs. Loucks, and in it was a
picture of her own dear self, looking just as she did a year and a half
ago; also a dozen stamps from father; they are all well, and so am I,
now that I have heard from home, and have this little reminder of my
sister to look at. A part of the regiment has gone, leaving the rest to
keep house.
_December 18, 1863._
_Friday._ I was awakened this morning by a terrible commotion in the
tent. It was full of smoke, through which I could see Gorton flying
around and splashing water over everything. It appeared he had got up
and built a fire and such a hot one that a spark flew out and set fire
to the tent. Colonel Parker has got off some of the bandages and he
looks as if he had been to an Irish wake. I have been writing letters
and am all caught up now. George, the cook, has mended the tent so we
are comfortable again. My letter and picture didn't cure me entirely,
for I feel almost sick to-day. Dr. Warren is dosing me with something
and I expect to be better or worse pretty soon. Good night.
_December 19, 1863._
_Saturday._ We heard a gun in the night, and are looking for letters
to-day. We have got the President's message and have read it through and
through. He has no notion of giving up the ship yet. He must be real
game, for as near as I can make out he not only has the whole South to
fight, but a part of the North as well. I wish he would send the
Copperheads down here where they belong. Sim Bryan, the mail-man of the
128th, is here, waiting for a boat. He says the boys of Company B are in
fine spirits, and are still at Baton Rouge. If I had staid with them all
this time I should surely have died with the blues. Besides, what would
I have had to put in my diary? My stomach has a trick of throwing up the
good things I eat as fast as I put them down. The weather keeps cool,
and I do nothing but sit over the stove and shiver. We hear no more of
going anywhere, and I begin to think we shall put in the winter right
here.
_December 20, 1863._
_Sunday._ To-day has been my well day. That is I felt so much better I
got out for a walk and took in a church on the way, where I heard a
part of a sermon in English. The walk has made me feel almost like
myself. If I don't get another setback to-morrow I will be all right
again. I got hold of a New Orleans paper to-day, printed October 22,
1861. It is amusing to us, but it cannot be so to the Rebels, to read
what they then planned to do and then to look about and see what they
have done.
_December 21, 1863._
_Monday._ Reported for duty this morning, and call myself well again.
There was nothing for me to do however, but I am no longer reported on
the sick list. Gorton says I was scared at the thoughts of going away
and so played sick. But he says so much I pay little attention to him.
Four different mail steamers are now due, and two of them have been due
for a week. Have been in camp all day, keeping things shipshape against
the return of Colonel B. and the rest of the regiment.
_December 22, 1863._
_Tuesday._ The Evening Star came in some time during the night and this
morning I had business at the post-office. I took my stand by box
thirteen, opening it every little while to see if anything had got in.
This I kept up for a long time, and then went across the street, bought
a paper and read the news. When I next opened the box there lay two
letters, and both for me. I came back to Camp Dudley, hardly touching
the ground, and was soon visiting with the folks at home. They are all
well and seem to be enjoying themselves. So am I.
_December 23, 1863._
_Wednesday._ Have been making out the company returns. Also wrote some
letters. Nothing new to report.
_December 24, 1863._
_Thursday._ Expecting the colonel back any time, and wishing to show him
what good housekeepers we are, we got the drummer boys at work to sweep
out the quarters and slick up the whole camp. Like boys everywhere, they
started in well, but soon got tired. Gorton and I then took hold and
helped them finish, and we are ready for anybody's inspection. We gave
the boys each a pass to go outside, and after dinner went out to the
race track, to see if any races were being run. Nothing much was going
on, and after looking at the stables and the horses we came back. As
to-morrow is Christmas we went out and made such purchases of good
things as our purses would allow, and these we turned over to George and
Henry, for safe keeping and for cooking on the morrow. After that we
went across the street to see what was in a tent that had lately been
put up there. We found it a sort of show. There was a big snake in a
show case and a tame black squirrel running around, and sticking his
nose into every one's pockets. Then there was another show case filled
with cheap-looking jewelry, each piece having a number attached to it.
Also a dice cup and dice. For $1.00 one could throw once, and any number
of spots that came up would entitle the thrower to the piece of jewelry
with a corresponding number on it. Just as it had all been explained to
us, a greenhorn-looking chap came in and, after the thing had been
explained to him, he said he was always unlucky with dice, but if one of
us would throw for him he would risk a dollar, just to see how the game
worked. Gorton is such an accommodating fellow I expected he would offer
to make the throw for him, but as he said nothing I took the cup and
threw seventeen. This the proprietor said was a very lucky number, and
he would give the winner $12 in cash or the fine pin that had the
seventeen on it. The fellow took the cash, like a sensible man. I
thought there was a chance to make my fortune and was going right in to
break the bank, when Gorton, who was wiser than I, took me one side and
told me not to be a fool; that the greenhorn was one of the gang, and
that the money I won for him was already his own. Others had come by
this time and I soon saw he was right, and I kept out. We watched the
game awhile and then went back to Camp Dudley and to bed.
_December 25, 1863._
_Friday._ Christmas, and I forgot to hang up my stocking. After getting
something to eat, we took stock of our eatables and of our pocket-books,
and found we could afford a few things we lacked. Gorton said he would
invite his horse-jockey friend, James Buchanan, not the ex-president,
but a little bit of a man, who rode the races for a living. So taking
Tony with me I went up to a nearby market, and bought some oysters, and
some steak. This with what we had on hand made us a feast such as we had
often wished for in vain. Buchanan came, with his saddle in his coat
pocket, for he was due at the track in the afternoon. George and Henry
outdid themselves in cooking, and we certainly had a feast. There was
not much style about it, but it was satisfying. We had overestimated our
capacity, and had enough left for the cooks and drummer boys. Buchanan
went to the races, Gorton and I went to sleep, and so passed my second
Christmas in Dixie. At night the regiment came back, hungry as wolves.
The officers mostly went out for a supper but Gorton and I had little
use for supper. We had just begun to feel comfortable. The regiment had
no adventures and saw no enemy. They stopped at Baton Rouge and gave the
128th a surprise. Found them well and hearty, and had a real good visit.
I was dreadfully sorry I had missed that treat. I would rather have
missed my Christmas dinner. They report that Colonel Smith and Adjutant
Wilkinson have resigned, to go into the cotton and sugar speculation.
The 128th is having a free and easy time, and according to what I am
told, discipline is rather slack. But the stuff is in them, and if
called on, every man will be found ready for duty. The loose discipline
comes of having nothing to do. I don't blame them for having their fun
while they can, for there is no telling when they will have the other
thing.
_December 26, 1863._
_Saturday._ The steamer Yazoo came in this morning and brought me four
letters, one of which was from father. He wants me to come home for a
visit, for he has been told I can come now if I want to. Dear old soul,
I wonder if he knows how much I want to. I hope now my application for a
furlough may be approved. It has been so long now that I had given up
thinking about it. I saw Colonel B. and told him how the case stood,
that I had neither asked for nor received any special favors since I
came out, and would not now if there was anything to do. He says he
approved the application I made some time ago, and that he would help me
by trying to trace it and see what had become of it. He says there are
so many applications for leave of absence that there is nothing strange
about their not being heard from, but he will try and find mine and will
also try and have it allowed. Good for you, Colonel Bostwick. But what
shall I say to father about it? I finally decided to write him just how
it is, that I will come if I can get away and that I want to see him as
much as he wants to see me, but I did not dare say how many chances
there are against my getting away.
_December 27, 1863._
_Sunday._ A heavy rain began early this morning and kept up until 3 P.
M. Consequently we have not been able to do more than visit each other
in our tents, or ramble about the Cotton Press. After the rain, the
lieutenant colonel of the 25th Connecticut came and preached to the men.
Another officer came with him, and also spoke. Altogether it was an
interesting meeting. After this I settled down to write some letters,
for a New York mail goes out to-morrow, and I don't allow any to go
without one or more letters of mine. I met with a singular mishap while
writing. Lieutenant Gorton had thrown his hat on the table and gone out
to visit his neighbors. To get it out of my way I put it on my head and
it having a wide brim, my candle set it on fire. The thing did not
blaze, but just ate its way across the brim. I smelled it all the time
and even looked about to see if any thing was on fire, but never thought
of the hat, until I felt the heat and then the hat was ruined. Colonel
Parker held a meeting in the hospital to-night and promises to have
services in camp now right along. That looks as if our trip to Matagorda
Island had been indefinitely postponed.
Father's letter has completely upset me. He needs me for something or he
would not have written as he did. But there is just nothing at all that
I can do more than I have. If Colonel B. can't bring about my going home
I don't know of any one who can. Good night.
_December 28, 1863._
_Monday._ I had another talk with Colonel B. to-day and as he gave me
several messages to take to his folks in case I do go, I am wild with
hopes that he sees a way for me to go. I didn't suppose I could be such
a fool. If I fail, I think less of what the disappointment will be for
me than for "the old folks at home." But I shall keep right on hoping
until my application comes back with that awful word "Disapproved"
written across it.
_December 29, 1863._
_Tuesday._ I put in a miserable night. I simply could not sleep for
thinking about my application. I traced it from headquarters to
headquarters, all the way up to G. Norman Leiber, A. A. A. General, and
watched to see what he wrote across the back. It was approved at every
stopping place up to his office, and I thought he merely glanced at the
endorsements and then wrote "Approved." I found myself sitting up in my
bed with the sweat pouring off my face, and Gorton and Smith both
yelling at me to know what was the matter.
So it seems I did sleep enough to have that blessed dream, but I was
about heart-broken to find it only a dream. Smith says he shall tell the
colonel to ask that my application be approved for the good of the
service, and if that doesn't work will ask for another place to sleep
in. After breakfast I was sent with a detail to get some material for
brush-brooms, to sweep the quarters with. This was something I had long
recommended, for I had learned from the men that they could make them if
they had the material, and that could be found in any swamp. We went out
Montague Street and followed it mile after mile till we were out of the
city and into the Little Cypress Swamp, so-called to distinguish it from
the Great Cypress which we saw when in the Teche country. We found acres
of the stuff, and soon had all we could lug back. We got back in time
for dinner and then the broom manufacture began. Some of them are fully
as well made as any in the market, and all look as if they would do good
service.
After dinner I went at the company returns so as to be ready for January
1st, when we expect to get our pay. What if my leave of absence should
come before pay day? I don't suppose there is money enough in the whole
outfit to pay my fare to New York. Jim Brant from Company B, 128th, came
in to-night. He has a furlough and is going home by the first boat.
Recitation came again to-night and we all had good lessons. I am going
to try and sleep to-night, for I need it.
_December 30, 1863._
_Wednesday._ Rain all day, and at it yet, 10 P. M. Have been getting my
company affairs settled up so as to be ready to turn over in case I go
home. Have also been looking up so as to be ready for the tactics
recitation to-morrow night.
_December 31, 1863._
_Thursday._ The last of the year 1863. A year ago we were at the
quarantine station seventy-two miles below here, hardly any well ones
among us, and from one to three deaths every day. All were discouraged
and ready for any change, no matter what, for nothing could be worse
than the condition we were in. We were about as hard hit as any regiment
I have yet heard of. What a heaven our present quarters would have been
to us then! Then we came up to Chalmette, just below here, where several
more died, and then on to Camp Parapet, where I was so sick that Colonel
B., then Captain B., wrote his father I would probably be dead before
the letter reached him. But God was good to me. The next the captain
knew I was better, and I have never seen any one get well as fast as I
did. Before I was discharged from the hospital I followed the regiment
on a scout to Ponchatoula, and that completed the cure. We then went to
Port Hudson and through the siege of six weeks before the works there,
and were rewarded by being one of the seven regiments to go in and
receive the surrender. Then after marching back to Baton Rouge, we went
to Donaldsonville, and then by easy marches up the river to Plaquemine,
and from there to Baton Rouge again. Then came the split up, the 128th
to remain where they since have been, and a few of us sent back to this
city for discharge from the 128th and for muster into the Corps de
Afrique. An exciting trip to the mouth of the Sabine River and back, and
then a run up the Teche country and back here, brings me round to the
present time and place. Thus I have summed up the most eventful year of
my life. I have captured no medals for bravery, neither have I had a
single reprimand for cowardice or lack of duty in any place I have been
put. This much I am telling you, diary, and don't you ever tell how
many times I have been scared most to death in the making up of this
record. It is not one to brag about, neither is it, from my standpoint,
one to be ashamed of. I have been on duty as officer of the guard
to-day, but the duties are so light, and the sergeants so well drilled,
I have found plenty of time to write. One of the officers--I won't
mention his name, but will say he is the one responsible for our muster
rolls being sent to the paymaster--got on a spree and forgot to send
them. Colonel B. has talked him sober and he has gone to deliver them
personally. If he don't get going again on the way, we stand a good
chance of getting paid off to-morrow. To-night is recitation night, but
being on duty excuses me. However I have the lesson at my tongue's end,
for we have not yet got beyond what Colonel Smith pounded into us at
Camp Millington. I shall never forget how, as knowledge rolled in, the
sweat rolled out while in that hot and dusty school camp at Millington.
Good night, 1863.
_January 1, 1864._
_Friday._ Good morning, 1864. How do you do, and have you a leave of
absence for me on or about you? This is the coldest day I have seen in
Louisiana. Ice formed on every puddle. The natives say it has not been
so cold in seventeen years. Good! I have seen ice once more. Now for a
snowstorm and then it will begin to seem like home. What are our folks
at to-day? It is easy to guess, that they are together somewhere,
probably at home to eat some of the good things mother knows so well how
to cook. Then after dinner they will talk the afternoon away and then go
home. But I forget that the roads may be blocked with snow, and the
mercury too low for comfort in going out. At any rate it is safe to say
they will have a good time somewhere and somehow. This idleness is going
to be the ruination of us, I fear. Three officers are absent without
leave, and Gorton was sent to round them up. He came back first and I
mistrust he came on after giving them a caution. Soon after the runaways
came back and were placed under arrest by Colonel B. and they now have
only the limits of the camp. As nothing more is likely to happen
to-night I will stop writing and try and plan how to sleep warm.
_January 2, 1864._
_Saturday._ As might have been expected, our half-burned tent kept out
but little of the cold. To-day we have drawn a new one and put it up in
a place more protected from the wind, and have left the old one standing
for a store room. It has been a busy day in camp, for all hands have
been trying to make themselves comfortable in any way they can think of.
Tactic school again to-night, and that is all there is to say for the
miserable day it has been.
_January 3, 1864._
_Sunday._ There was preaching in the quarters as promised. After a good
sermon by an old man whom Colonel Parker had got hold of, the colonel
gave a first-rate talk to all hands. I wrote several letters to home
folks and had to tell them I had heard nothing more about my leave to go
home. Good night, all.
_January 4, 1864._
_Monday._ Pay day to-day. I had $205.25 due me, and now let the furlough
come. I am ready for it and if it had come before this I could only use
it by walking.
Gorton has said so much about a fortune-teller he has several times
consulted, that I went with him and had my fortune told. I found the
fortune-teller to be an old woman, whether white or black I am not sure.
She was black enough, but her features were not like an African's.
Whether Gorton had given her any points about me or not I don't know. He
says he didn't tell her a thing. She took me in to a room dimly lighted
and sat me down at one side of a table while she took the other. Then
she spread out a pack of common playing cards, and began. First she said
I had received a letter from a near relative that had caused me trouble
of mind. That this near relative had also seen trouble on my account.
That brought to mind father's letter and I thought, and wanted to say,
"Go it, old gal, for you are correct so far." Next she told me I was
going on a journey and would start within nine days. That it was partly
by water and partly by land, but mostly by water. Also that I was going
to meet with a great disappointment soon. These are the things I
remember, and are the ones I feel most concerned about. The journey,
provided she can read my future, and which I don't yet believe, may be
the long expected trip to Matagorda Island. That order has not been
countermanded yet. Or it may be I am really and truly going home. Either
one would be by water and land both, but mostly by water. About the
letter that had caused both myself and a near relative trouble, it must
have been the letter from father, and Gorton may have told her of it.
The disappointment is what troubles me most. I know of nothing on earth
that would be a greater disappointment than the disapproval of my
application. Gorton knows all about that and may have told her, though
he swears he did not. He says there is another fortune-teller he knows
about, but has never seen, that has a greater reputation and charges a
greater price. My old woman charged a dollar and the other one has five
times that, but all the same I am tempted to see her just to see how
they agree. If they should agree I would have to own up they knew
something, and if they disagreed I would throw the whole thing off my
mind, that is, if I can.
Lieutenant Reynolds wanted to go to the theatre to-night and I have
taken his place on guard. A white regiment has moved in with us for
winter-quarters. There is room for several regiments, and provided we
agree, it will be pleasanter for all.
_January 5, 1864._
_Tuesday._ We had a cold wet rain this morning and then the rain
stopped. The cold, however, kept right on and we are expecting to shiver
all night. Sol, our commissary, had to go up town on business, so with
his authority I went to the post bakery and drew bread for the regiment.
Towards night Sol, Jim Brant, who is still waiting for a boat, and
myself went up town and filled up on raw oysters, getting back in time
to say our lessons to Colonel B. The run home, or the oysters, or both,
warmed us up so the weather seems much milder, and we had a much more
comfortable night than we looked for.
_January 6, 1864._
_Wednesday._ Another rainy morning, and so cold the water freezes on the
trees and looks real homelike. The natives say it will kill the orange
crop and the bananas also. Also that the sugar-cane crop will be a
failure. From all I can learn this is very unusual weather for this part
of the country. What about the soldiers that are out in tents, lying on
the ground. They say nothing of them, but I cannot help thinking of and
pitying them.
Colonel B. has been to headquarters to-day and heard that our Texas trip
is likely to come off yet. Just how soon he did not find out, but it is
not given up. I suppose it would really be the best thing for us, for
camp life is a very demoralizing life for soldiers. What we will be by
spring if we stay here is hard to tell, but deviltry of one sort or
another is sure to get a good start. Just at night I went to the
post-office to have a look in box thirteen. There were some letters, but
none for me. But I always think no news is not bad news, and then go to
looking for the next mail. Sergeant Brant is here yet waiting for
transportation. His furlough will run out while he waits, but he doesn't
seem to care. I am sure I would be an uneasy mortal if I was in his
place.
_January 7, 1864._
_Thursday._ Officer of the guard again and in camp as a natural
consequence. The weather is quite mild. Rain keeps coming. It is the
rainy season for this country, and we must put up with it. Lieutenant
Ames is celebrating his full pockets. I am saving mine until I hear from
my application and maybe then I'll celebrate.
_January 8, 1864._
_Friday._ The anniversary of the battle of New Orleans, and a great day
for the place. They tell me it is nothing to what it used to be before
the war. Still there is lots of noise and the bands are all playing as
the people march by on the way to Chalmette.
At night I went to the first show I have attended in New Orleans. It was
at the Academy of Music and was fine. There was a troop of trained dogs
that did everything but talk, and I expected that would be the next
thing. Some were dressed like ladies and were posted around the ring on
little chairs. A coach, drawn and driven by dogs, and with other dogs
inside, came round making calls on the ladies. The coach would pull up
opposite a lady, the footman would jump down and hold the horses while
the lady inside got out and rubbed noses with the lady in the chair, and
then on to the next until the circuit was completed. People could not
have acted the part better. All that was lacking was the chatter and the
smack that would have been heard if humans had acted the part. The rest
was good but the dogs suited me best.
_January 9, 1864._
_Saturday._ Two letters to-day. Aunt Maria and Jane were the senders.
They had just got my letters, written Dec. 9, so it takes just a month
for a letter to come and go. I went up town and had my phiz taken again.
Jane didn't like the one I sent her. Coming back I met with a strange
adventure, and although there wasn't much to it, it someway impressed me
so I have thought of little else since. A fairly well-dressed man, old
and venerable-looking, tapped me on the shoulder and asked for five
cents to buy some crackers. He did not look or appear like a beggar, and
something about him and his manner struck me as no other such plea ever
did. I had spent nearly all the money I had with me, but what I did have
I handed over, and was going on when he stopped me to know if I would
receive an old man's blessing. I stopped, not knowing what to say or do,
when he raised his hands above my head, and as near as I can recall the
words said, "God Almighty bless and protect you and yours. The Cross of
Christ shall stand between you and all harm, a bullet shall never hit
that head; you have helped a poor old man, and as you have helped him so
shall you be helped. You have cast bread upon the water and though it be
late in life, your reward shall come." I thanked him and hurried away.
Quite a crowd had collected while this was going on. I was all togged
out in my new uniform, having been to have my picture taken, and I
suppose the sight was a little unusual. I haven't told a soul but you,
diary, for anyone but you would laugh at me. But you and I are
confidants and you have never yet betrayed me. Lieutenant Gorton is
about sick to-night, and I have been doctoring him up the best I know
how. Have got him to bed and given him a part of my covering, for though
the night is cold he needs it the most. I don't feel a bit like sleep.
In spite of me I can't get the old man and his strange conduct out of my
head.
By way of experiment a squad of sergeants was sent out to-night to try
their hand at recruiting. They have come in with about sixty
good-looking negroes. This shows they can beat us at the business, and
if they are kept at it we will soon have a full regiment.
_January 10, 1864._
_Sunday._ Sergeant Brant thought sure he would go to-day and after a
good-bye all round started for the boat. He came back soon after, saying
he had given up the trip for to-day. It seems the boat is held back for
some reason and will sail to-morrow. That will give me time to write
some more letters. The quartermaster and I went to church to-day. He
knew where to go, and though it was a long walk there and back, I felt
well paid for going. As near as I could tell it was a Methodist church.
At any rate the language used was United States, while those I had
before attended used Latin. We were seated in a pew with a handsome
young lady, who gave us a hymn book, even finding the place for us. I
was never more sorry I could not sing. After church she invited us to
come again, saying how glad she was we had come to-day. We promised her
we would, and came back. If I can find the way there I certainly mean to
go again. We now expect to start for Texas this week sometime. Only a
part are to go and we are all impatience to know who will be taken and
who left. If I knew my leave of absence wouldn't come I should want to
go, but suppose it did come and had to follow me up, the time would be
up before I could get started. I am very often thankful for the things I
don't know.
_January 11, 1864._
_Monday._ I sneaked off this morning, and hunted up Madam Black, the
"Great Indian Astrologist," as the papers call her. I had been boiling
over with curiosity to know how near she and the other one--I have
forgotten her name--agree as to my future. I found her without trouble,
and was surprised to find her, not a squaw, as I expected, but one of
the sweetest-looking and most motherly-acting old women I have seen
since I saw my own dear mother. She simply took me by storm. I couldn't
disbelieve her if I tried. I had always been an unbeliever in
fortune-telling, but in the state of mind I was in I was ready to catch
at any straw she held out. She took me into an elegantly furnished room,
and the only question she asked about myself was the day and month of my
birth. This I told her, and she sat down before me and closed her eyes
as if going to sleep. Soon she began, and gave me as good a history of
my past life as I could have told her, without going into particulars
more than she did. Of course I was then ready to gulp down anything she
might say, and was tempted to run away and leave my future as it had
always been to me, a closed book. But my desire to hear about my going
home, or going to Texas was strong upon me, and I held my breath while
she continued. She told me I was born to disappointment, that my plans
had been upset as fast as I made them, and this would continue until
after my forty-fifth birthday; that happily for me I was also born with
a disposition that did not allow disappointments to sink in as it
otherwise would, and for that reason I had never been so discouraged as
not to try again. After my forty-fifth birthday things would change and
I would wind up rich and contented. As she said this she added, "but it
won't take as much to make you rich and contented as it does most
people." She told me I was to have two wives (she didn't say both at one
time) and five children. Then she said, as the other one did, that I was
going on a journey in a few days, from which I would return to New
Orleans again; that inside of seven months I would go on a journey from
which I would never return to this place; that after that I would be
happy and the world would be kinder to me than ever before. Aside from a
chat we had on other subjects, that was all I got for my $5. I believe
now I am to go somewhere very soon, but whether to Matagorda or to
Dutchess County I know no more than before. I came back and went to work
getting ready for a start, because that was what the others were doing,
but to save me I couldn't put much heart in my preparations. It rained
to-day, as usual. Altogether it has not been a cheerful day for me. I
am five dollars poorer and the little knowledge I swapped it for does
not cheer me as I hoped it might. Good night, diary. Remember you are
not to tell a living soul of this, and when Gorton next proposes my
going to consult my future, I shall tell him I don't believe a thing in
it, and that the whole thing is a swindle. The question, Texas or home,
is still unanswered.
_January 12, 1864._
_Tuesday._ "Glory, Hallelujah!" I'm going home. Just as I was crawling
under my blanket to-night, after a miserable cold, wet day of routine
duty, the colonel's servant came and said the colonel wanted me to come
to his tent. I got up and dressed, wondering what it could mean. Just
then I recalled hearing a horseman ride in and out, and I said to
myself--that means Texas sure. I found pretty much all the colonel's
family packed in his tent and all with long, sober faces on them. The
colonel asked me what sort of a caper I had been up to when out on a
pass yesterday, adding, before I could reply, that I was the last one he
expected to get such a report about from headquarters, at the same time
handing me an official-looking document and requested me to read for
myself. In a sort of a daze I opened it and at a glance saw it was my
leave of absence. I came to life then. Whether they are glad to be rid
of me for a while, or what, I don't know, but they all appeared as glad
as I was. Appeared, I say, for it is not possible they could feel as I
did, and do, about it. We kept the colonel up until he drove us off and
then the most of them went home with me, and we kept up the clatter of
talk until almost morning. The errands and the messages I have promised
to do and deliver will make a hole in my vacation, but I don't care, for
anyone of them would do the same for me. The day had been so dull that I
was not going to write a word about it, but the wind-up was too
momentous not to mention it on the day and date thereof. And now for a
nap, or a try for one.
_January 13, 1864._
_Wednesday._ In spite of late hours last night I was up early, and as
soon as I had eaten, was off to look up the matter of transportation. If
a transport is to sail soon I can go through for nothing. I found it was
barely possible one might go this week, but it was quite uncertain.
Knowing how very uncertain these army uncertainties are, I went to the
office of the Creole and found she sails on Friday. I engaged passage
and came back and have since been getting ready to go. Gorton wants me
to take his Henry Holmes along to help Mrs. Gorton, and says I can pass
him through as my servant free of cost. I told him if that was the case
I would take him along, and the darkey is almost as glad to go as I am.
Marching orders came to-day, and preparations for a move are already
under way. Two regiments of mounted infantry have come in to camp with
us and this makes neighbors pretty close.
_January 14, 1864._
_Thursday. Night._ Camp is torn up, and the men and officers have gone.
Part started for Franklin again, for recruits, and Colonel B. with the
rest have started off towards Lake Ponchartrain, what for, nobody here
knows. If I have the good luck that was wished me, I shall certainly
have a fine time. I have got my ticket, and my baggage is on board the
Creole. She sails at 7 A. M. to-morrow morning. I am back in camp to
stay with Sol and the quartermaster, who are left to go on to-morrow
with the stores. Colonel B. rode in for some final directions. He says
they encamp at Lakeport to-night, and will receive orders in the morning
what to do or where to go. He says there is a prospect of our being
transferred to the quartermaster's department.
_January 15, 1864._
_Friday._ On board the steamer Creole, at South West Pass. Have taken on
a pilot and will soon be across the bar and into the Gulf. We left at
foot of Toulouse street at half past eight this morning. Gorton had
managed to get in, in time to swing his hat as we started down the
river.
Whether he had something of importance to say I don't know, for he was
too late for anything but the farewell swing of his broad-brimmed hat.
The boat is so nice I don't feel a bit at home. The table and staterooms
are likewise. However I shall try and endure it. The most of the
passengers are army men with a sprinkling of men and women, some of the
latter being Sisters of Mercy. No place would look right without them,
for they seem to be everywhere. We are in the Gulf now, and the pilot
has just left us. The sea is getting rougher every minute and my dinner
and supper seem to be quarreling about something. I did not expect to be
seasick, but the symptoms are all here and I think I will go below.
_January 17, 1864._
_Sunday._ Yesterday I did not write. I had other business to attend to.
Friday night I went below, thinking I might the better escape an attack
of seasickness, which I felt coming on. But I did not. After a night as
full of misery as one night can be, I found myself alive at daylight,
but perfectly willing to die, if I only could. The stateroom was first
swinging around in a circle, and then going end over end. First I would
go up, as if I was never going to stop, and then sink down until it
seemed as if I must strike bottom. My clothes, hanging across from me,
were going through the same motions. I was soon gazing at my breakfast,
dinner and supper of the day before, and I think I saw traces of my New
Year's dinner. Life or death, York State or Louisiana, peace or war were
all the same to me then. Whether the ship was on its way to New York or
to the bottom didn't interest me a particle. Anything would suit me.
After a while of this I fell asleep, and about 3 P. M. I came to life
again, and began to take stock, as Sol says. I felt like a dishrag,
thrown down without being wrung out. Soon a knock came at the door, and
I was surprised to find I could say "come in." A colored individual with
the boat's uniform on came in, and after a look at me and then at the
floor went after the necessary tools for house-cleaning. There were two
berths, one above the other, and I was in the lower one. He helped me
into the upper berth and began operations on the one I had occupied.
After a while he claimed things were once more shipshape, and left me
saying I would soon be all right. I soon after got out on the floor and
managed to get into my clothes. From that I ventured into the cabin,
where I sat down in a chair I could not possibly fall out of, and soon
got into conversation with a man, whom I found to be a sea captain, on
his way to New York to take out another vessel. He didn't seem to be
worried about me, and said there were many others on board that had been
sick and had not yet showed up. He got me a cracker, which I ate, more
to see if my stomach was still there than because I was hungry. This
helped me wonderfully, and after visiting a while I went back and slept
sound all night.
To-day I have been on deck almost all day. The water is not smooth, but
it is nothing to what it was night before last. I looked up Henry
Holmes, and found he had been as sick as I, and that he was not over it
yet. His color had changed to a gray, which did not improve his looks at
all. All I could do was to tell him how sorry I was for him, and that he
would soon feel well again. But he said he would "never live to see the
Noff, he just knew he couldn't." The day was perfect, almost everyone
was on deck, and though some were rather pale, all seemed to enjoy
themselves.
_January 18, 1864._
_Monday._ I was all over my sick spell this morning, and although there
was quite a breeze, and the water quite rough, it did not disturb me.
Henry was still sick, and wished himself back on the old plantation. I
wished I could help him in some way, but was told there is nothing to do
but grin and bear it. About 10 A. M. we saw something they called
Florida Cape, but if it had not been pointed out I should not have seen
it at all. Altogether the day passed very pleasantly for me.
_January 19, 1864._
_Tuesday._ The same thing to-day. Henry is sick yet, though I think I
see some improvement. We don't seem to move, but I suppose we do. There
is nothing in sight but water, and it seems to go up hill in every
direction. The Creole keeps chugging away, but there is nothing by which
I can tell whether we move or not.
_Night._ The captain says we are off the coast of Georgia, but how he
knows I don't know. If we were near enough, I would feel just like
jumping off and going on foot to New York and telling them the Creole is
coming.
_January 20, 1864._
_Wednesday._ To-day the wind has been against us. At noon we were said
to be off Charleston. The sea-captain passenger has had fun with the
landsmen about staggering as we go about, but he is laughing no more.
This afternoon he was getting up from a nap in his room, when a sudden
lurch of the vessel pitched him head first against a mirror opposite,
and smashed it fine. He called all hands up for something at his
expense. We have spent the evening playing euchre and had a very
pleasant time.
_January 21, 1864._
_Thursday._ The day has been warm and pleasant, we are past Cape
Hatteras and with good luck will be in New York by to-morrow at this
time. Henry is coming round all right but he has been dreadfully sick
and shows it.
_January 22, 1864._
_Friday._ Was up early, for at night, or before, we were to reach New
York. I saw that Henry was ready to grab his little bundle, and then
kept an eye out ahead. The first I saw was Sandy Hook, and soon we were
in sight of land and numberless other vessels. At 2 P. M. the Creole
tied up at pier 13, North River, and not long after, Henry and I were in
an express wagon bound for the 26th Street depot. I had to call at 197
Mulberry street to deliver a message for John Mathers, and his people
urged me to stay all night and tell them about John and the war. From
there we went to Brook Brothers to do an errand for Colonel Bostwick and
then on for the station. A man jumped on the wagon and wanted to hire
Henry for a cook in a restaurant, but Henry had all the job he wanted,
and refused. He offered him $25 a month and board, but Henry said no. At
26th Street we found the train would soon start and I hustled for
tickets. I had given Henry a dollar, telling him to get something to eat
at a place opposite the station and looked all around for him after I
had my ticket and trunk check. I went to the restaurant and hunted all
about until the cry "All aboard" came, and then giving his ticket to a
policeman, to send him along on the next train, got on board, and at
8.20 P. M. landed at Millerton. No one knew of my coming, and the people
gazed at me as if I had risen from the dead. I was still five miles from
home, and as the roads were it might as well have been fifty. There was
no one in the place from our way, and as I had to be there when the
train came next day to look for Henry, there was no other way but to
stay all night. This I did, at Sweet's Hotel.
_January 23, 1864._
_Saturday._ I visited about until train time, and managed to send word
home that I would be there at night or before. I took dinner at Jenks'
and was scolded for not coming right there the night before. At 2 P. M.
when the train came I was on the platform, but no Henry got off. I then
gave him up as lost in New York somewhere, but for what reason he had
left me as he had I could not imagine. I had seen him enter the Dutchess
County House after a lunch, and in ten minutes I was back there looking
for him, but he was gone. That is all I could tell Mrs. Gorton, or the
lieutenant, when I saw him again. I jumped in with Joe Hull, stopped at
the Center and told Mrs. Gorton about Henry, went on, stopping at Mr.
Hull's for a short call, and was soon after at home. I found little
change in the dear old couple. I thought they looked a little older, but
it was the same father and mother who had never been absent from my
thoughts since I left them a year and a half before. They had been told
I was at Millerton, on my way home. There had been no time to notify
them by letter for I left New Orleans before a mail steamer did, after
my furlough came. What was said and what was done concerns only us
three, and we are not likely to forget it. It is enough to say we were
all happy, and that we talked until late bedtime. I found my room just
as I left it. So far as I could see, nothing had been disturbed. It was
a long time before I slept, but I did at last, and I suppose they did
also.
_February 27, 1864._
_Saturday._ From January 23 on I was too busy, visiting and being
visited, to do more with my diary than keep notes enough to remind me,
when I got time, to write up again. Time was too precious to even write
about, I had the free run of everything. Horses and wagons, or sleighs
as the case might call for, were free, and the houses of my friends were
all open for me either night or day. Many times the younger set met
somewhere for an evening and in that way I did much wholesale visiting.
I feel ashamed now, as I look over the list, to think I spent so much of
the time away from home. But there seemed no other way. The main object
of my coming, that of getting a place for father and mother to live
after April, was accomplished by buying the place opposite Mott Drake's,
with which they are well pleased. They will be among old and tried
friends, and about central for the girls to visit them--near the church
and store, and where the mail passes every day. With land enough to keep
the cow, and to raise all the vegetables they need, they have never been
so comfortably situated since my time began. Through Mr. Bostwick's
kindness I was able to accomplish all this, and I go back to my task
with a lighter heart and a heavier debt of gratitude then I came home
with. I cannot mention all the people I visited and that visited me. It
would be easier to tell those I did not meet. Those who had dear ones in
the South that I could tell them about were never tired hearing about
them. Some whose dear ones lie buried where they fell were the hardest
for me. I could not tell them the worst, and the best seemed so awful to
them I was glad when such visits were over.
Almost at the last I got track of Henry Holmes, and left him with John
Loucks to pass along to Mrs. Gorton. He told me the man who tried to
hire him in New York followed him into the restaurant and told him I had
left a trunk on the Creole, and that I wanted him to go and get it. He
jumped in the same wagon that had brought us there and was taken down
town to a recruiting office, where he was asked to enlist. His being
lame prevented that, and he was turned out in the street again. He asked
everyone where the depot was where Lieutenant Larry went for tickets.
Finally he told his story to someone who was humane enough to help him,
and in that way got back to the 26th Street depot. There the policeman
to whom I had given his ticket saw him, and, as there was no train that
night, sent him to some place for the night, and saw him on the train
the next day. He was asleep on the train when it reached Millerton, and
was taken through to Albany, where he kept up the search and inquiry for
Lieutenant Larry. Some kind-hearted people then set about quizzing him
for my last name, and hearing the name Van Alstyne, which is common in
Albany, he at once said it was Lieutenant Larry Van Alstyne. After a
while he recalled Major Palon and Colonel Bostwick to mind. As neither
of these names were of Albany, and as the Palons were known to live in
Hudson, he was sent there. The Palons got him a place with a farmer at
Johnstown, below Hudson, and also put an advertisement in the paper
giving the particulars as Henry had given them. One of these papers fell
into the hands of Colonel Bostwick's mother, who sent for me. John
Loucks then went to Johnstown and found Henry, who had a good place with
people who were good to him, and he refused to go, saying he had been
fooled so many times he had rather stay where he was. As John was about
to leave he happened to say in Henry's hearing, "I don't know what Larry
will say." At the name Larry, which it appears had not been spoken
before, Henry at once asked if he meant Lieutenant Larry, and upon being
told he did, he said, "If you know Lieutenant Larry, I'll go with you."
And so it came about that we came together only the night before I was
to start for the South again. I was certainly glad to see Henry, and if
actions are any guide, Henry was glad to see me.[8]
FOOTNOTES:
[8] After the war I became a citizen of Sharon, and soon after Henry
Holmes came there to live and so conducted himself that only good can be
said of him. In the book of Sharon epitaphs, published in 1903, appears
the following:
"Henry Holmes
Died May 19, 1887
Free at last."
"Henry Holmes was probably about seventy years old at the time of his
death. He was born a slave and so remained until freed by the Civil War.
He was last owned by a cotton planter in Louisiana from whom he took his
name. He came north in the winter of 1864-5 and lived nearly all the
remainder of his life in Sharon. He was a Methodist, and was buried from
that church. The ministers from both the other churches attended and
requested the privilege of taking part in the services. They each in
turn gave testimony to the help and encouragement they had received from
the words and example of this good old man. He was entirely
self-supporting and at his death it was found he had laid by a sum
sufficient to defray the expenses of his burial, and to pay for the
enduring monument which marks his grave in Hillside Cemetery."